Isn’t it funny how life can keep us from living? We get so wrapped up in everyday life we forget to really live.

Or maybe we don’t actually forget, but simply find time is the harsh judge who forces us to choose one or the other. And so, like obedient little bees, we work. We do what we must, what the rest of society demands of us. We hover around the flowers, collect pollen, but never take the time to enjoy those flowers; we are utterly blind to their beauty.

We make a life for ourselves. We do what we must to have food and shelter. But at what cost? What is life without living? What is food without spice? What is shelter without color?

And so I sit, between these two worlds, unable to fully commit to either one. Oh I wish I could embrace the beauty, the art, passion, and zest. But the practical side of me pulls back the sensitive artist. So I turn to the other world, ready to accept responsibility, hard work, duty. But the creative soul in me begs for freedom and draws back the dutiful side.

And so I sit, between these two worlds, looking down upon them both. I smile at the passionate spirits who immerse themselves in art, and sigh as I watch them lose sight of practicality. I nod as I watch the hard-working individuals drive themselves to great achievements, and hurt as they sacrifice their souls to success.

And so I sit, between these two worlds, venturing into one for a while, then returning to pay my dues to the other. With caution I go, for if I tarry too long in one world, the other will reject me. So I linger in the world of art only as long as time will allow, the ticking of the clock like the string around my ankle, tugging me back.

And so I sit, between these two worlds, having made for myself a home here. Unable to let myself live in one world or the other, I watch both with joy and sadness. It will always be a delicate balance for me, a struggle throughout my life. But this is my place.